Rain Falls From Mt Olympus
by ItsADuckStupid
Summary: Second in the Rain Series. This time it's Will's turn.


**Title:** Rain Falls From Mt. Olympus

**Author:** Duck

**Rating:** PG

**Genre:** Angst

**Summary:** "She is alive, breathing, warm and real, and he is cold and in need of something familiar, someone to remind him of the upsides of life. He, however, can't see her. He's lucky, although not that lucky, to even know her heart is beating once again." Second in the "Rain" Series.

**A/N:** This will probably not make sense if you have not read, "The Truth About the Rain." That goes into the background information not mentioned here. One of my betas read this and was all, "WTF?" because I failed to mention this was a companion. Huge thanks to my little family, SAG, Kyle, Neumy, and Dani. Love you all amazingly much. A special little thanks to Kyle for telling me to keep the ending (I will return and beat your ass in tic tac toe. Fear me.)

Rain Falls From Mt. Olympus 

It doesn't rain very often in Albuquerque, New Mexico, but when it does, the skies swell with angry clouds and the gods let loose their wrath in the pelting raindrops and dangerous flashfloods. Mighty Zeus, with his lightning bolts, sends down arrows of light to scorch the land below.   
  
This is how Will Tippin passes his days. He has turned to Mythology, the ancient Greeks especially, as an escape from the realities of everyday life. These tales of heroes and gods let him forget the truths that hover in his mind constantly.  
  
He loved Francie in such a special way. Never before had he a friend and lover intertwined. I'm not saying he didn't pine for it, as you well know, but Sydney always stopped his advances in their tracks. Francie, she was so different. He misses her touch in the cold hours of the lonely nights, more so when the raindrops grind into the stucco walls of his meager apartment. He only allows himself to remember how she made his body react and the rush of emotion he drowned in every time she touched him in the late hours of the night when his coworkers can't see the expression of longing on his features.   
  
_Truth Number One: Francie is dead.   
_  
At first, when their relationship was just beginning to transform, he thought she was acting somewhat strangely. But he never suspected, didn't even consider the possibility that Francie, the woman that he was falling in love with, was someone else. It haunts him now, loving Francie but loving someone else in the same whisper and touch. Allison Doren leaves a shadow over his pure and beautiful love, darkening his heart until he's not sure of anything anymore.   
  
_Truth Number Two: The woman Will Tippin loved was a stranger._   
  
Among these plagues on his soul is another bitter reminder he deals with, and it is even harder now. Once he had accepted her absence in this world his grief was unchecked but over time his mind took over and he breathed normally, but now that he knows she's alive, it is so much harder. She is alive, breathing, warm and real, and he is cold and in need of something familiar, someone to remind him of the upsides of life. He, however, can't see her. He's lucky, although not that lucky, to even know her heart is beating once again. Eric Weiss called him when they confirmed that she truly was living. He stared at the answering machine numbly after pressing the button, quietly processing the idea that someone he loved and lost had been found. The message, however, ended with a sad truth.  
  
_Truth Number Three: Sydney Bristow is alive, but Will Tippin will never see her again._  
  
And the last truth, the one he deals with every second of every day. He can't hide from it, can't put it to the back of his mind and remind himself to think about it some other time. It is the one truth even the gods can't shield.   
  
_Truth Number Four: Will Tippin will never walk again._  
  
Now, you know as well as I do that he was stabbed in the stomach by the deceptive A.G. Doren, which, technically would not effect the mobility of the appendages below his waist. This paralysis did not occur until the surgery after the said attack, when the surgeon pushed his instruments just a little too far and damaged the delicate spinal cord running the length of his back. He would have sued the bastard, but being in the protection program hindered his legal fight.   
  
But here he is, confined to a pathetically worn wheelchair because his medical insurance can provide nothing better, and he stares out the droplet speckled window his minimally decorated office supplies. The actual job isn't so bad; he's writing at least, and it's one of the few ties he has to the past. He can't quite be the reporter he was, one of the requirements being able to get in anywhere, and he's screwed if there's so much as a single stair in his path. So he does commentary on local happenings and sometimes distant politicians in the opinion section of the Albuquerque Herald, which requires absolutely no movement on his part.   
  
Thoughts of writing a novel under a pen name has crossed his mind more often these days, after all, the job doesn't keep him that busy, and his small group of impersonal friends does not go out often, if ever.   
  
Mark Armenta, his boss, hinted at a promotion yesterday. He thinks that he would like a bigger paycheck. Maybe he could get one of those electric wheel chairs that he sees during his late night infomercial marathons. Wheeling himself away from the desk he makes his way to the break room in hope that there will still be coffee left in the machine. It's still early, a lot of his coworkers haven't yet arrived, but coffee goes quickly in the office.   
  
The mail guy bumps his chart into the side of his wheelchair, but he doesn't really notice until the kid calls his name rather hesitantly. There's an envelope for him, left last night after he'd already retired to his home. The kid pushes his glasses back onto the bridge of his nose as he watches Will finger the brown paper. Noticing his audience he leaves; he knows this is from the CIA. Outside isn't really an option considering the torrent of rain falling from the heavens, and the break room is guaranteed to occupy at least one sleepy eyed employee. So he heads back to his office, sans coffee, and closes the blinds behind him.   
  
He finds his hands are shaking as they begin to slit the seal. It's been over two years since he's gotten documentation from the government, besides his tax forms, and it's somewhat unnerving. He considers the possibility that it is a request for him to return to Los Angeles, but he quickly waves that away. If anything, it's going to tell him he has to pack up his life again and start over in the shadows of another town with a new identity.  
  
When he finally does break the seal and turns it over, only a single white envelope falls gracefully to his desk, the black inked Will Tippin contrasting against the white paper. Its a bit of a shock to see his name written there, he hasn't seen the name Tippin in over two years. It is one of the things he misses most. Although, he's lucky he got to keep the William of his name. It's common enough so that he didn't have to change it.   
  
His heart clenches tightly as he examines the writing closely. Its Sydney's, he thinks, shaking his head to clear the emotions clouding his vision. There are no scenarios he can envision that would elicit a letter from the woman he misses so much and he is somewhat confused as the letter opener out of his desk drawer rips the thick white envelope.   
  
The lined sheet of paper he pulls from the interior is thin and flimsy, and the words only fall to the middle of the page. As he scans a dread falls over his heart, and he is choking for air when he finishes.   
  
Mallory, the new assistant, pokes her head in a second later and takes no notice of her boss's hunched posture or the glassy complexion his eyes have taken, and starts to read off a list.   
  
"You need to call back a Mr. Anderson, he was rather persistent yesterday, and a Simon called about submitting some of his draw-" she glances up, "Mr. Graham? Are you ok?"   
  
He can only shake his head and clutch the letter tighter in his grasp. He doesn't know what to say, how to feel. She's dead, again, and he doesn't know what the hell to make of it. There's a part of him that wants to scream at her, condemn, ask her why she gave up so easily after getting it all back, but there's a part of him that understands completely and forgives her.   
  
"Um...I guess I'll come back later." Mallory exits, and he barely notices.   
  
Syd's gone.   
  
He can't help but think that Hades is a lucky bastard. He'll get to spend eternity with Sydney, and Will is stuck in the never-ending reality of life. The rain pelts against the glass, and he sinks into depression with the pang of every drop.

**El Fin**


End file.
